


Debt

by Lassarina



Category: Final Fantasy VI
Genre: Adventure, Angst, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-06-03
Updated: 2006-06-03
Packaged: 2017-10-03 10:51:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lassarina/pseuds/Lassarina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Terra will reclaim the debt.  Implied LeoxTerra, though not much in the way of explicit pairing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Debt

The debt was owed.

She had been waiting to reclaim this debt in blood for over a year. Leo had not deserved to die at Kefka's hands merely to advance a madman's ambitions. Killing Kefka could not bring him back, and she knew it, but that did not matter. What mattered was that there would be retribution.

Never repayment, because there was no way to repay the world for the loss of a humane yet courageous soldier, nor herself for the one person that she had felt truly understood her. That was not her purpose here today.

Oh, ridding the world of this sadistic megalomaniac was a good thing; of that she had no doubt. And there were the children to think of.

That was another debt that was owed. He owed those children for the loss of their parents, their siblings, their futures. He owed the world for the destruction he had wreaked.

He owed, and he would pay.

The thought distracted her just long enough for a brutal blow to slip through her guard. She staggered and fell to her knees. The two mangled creatures at the top of Kefka's twisted tower of souls plunged toward the wreckage far below as the world went black.

The cool, sweet tingle of a resurrection spell shivered through her and she pushed herself painfully back to a sitting position. Light flared around her as Celes chanted the final words of the spell that would automatically revive her should she fall. She felt Edgar's hand on the back of her head, pulling her head slightly back so he could pour the Elixir down her throat. The healing medicine took effect immediately. Her vision cleared and she rose to her feet, facing the man she had hated all her life but never dared to strike.

She dared now.

He floated in front of them, a wild-eyed testament to madness. Vast, glittering golden-feathered wings sprouted from his back. He was shrouded in deep, rich purple. He laughed down at them, laughed at these pitiful mortals who had come to topple him and end his cruel reign.

It was strange. She had heard tales, had thought that in this moment her vision might be hazed with red, or everything might become a blur except him and the rise and fall of her sword. But rather, the world had become preternaturally clear. There was no blinding rage, no gut-wrenching helplessness--none of the feelings she had encountered before in his terrifying presence. Only determination, clear and cold and hard.

Blue light expanded and flared, leaving dazzling afterimages dancing in front of her eyes. The spell went off a second time as Celes utilized the power of the most savage destructive magic against this, their greatest foe. The golden wings were no longer pristine, scorched and smoking where the spell had struck. As Terra gripped her sword and readied herself, Edgar leapt forward wielding his drill. A gaping hole appeared in the upper left wing, and shattered bone wrenched itself free of the tattered remains of the wing. Blood spurted from the now-limp wing.

A flurry of shuriken from dark-gloved hands reduced the remaining wings to shreds. Shadow grunted in satisfaction as more feathers drifted away, though their foe still floated in midair. Kefka's face was twisted with hate, and now...now it was her turn.

She stepped forward and struck with all her might. The slashing stroke produced a vicious gash across his chest. The sight of his blood on her blade sent an icy thrill of satisfaction through her. This was why she had come here.

She wanted more.

The devastating blue spell dazzled her eyes again. The metallic scream of a drill bore against bone grated on her ears. Shuriken whizzed by in a blur of sound and flashing metal, burying themselves deep in the ragged mass of flesh. None of it mattered.

She lunged forward, her body automatically executing patterns of movement that had been painfully drilled into her from the time she was old enough to hold a sword. The point pierced cleanly into his chest. She kept driving it forward until she felt the warm blood running down her hand, until the hilt grated against his ribs and would go no deeper.

She looked into the dimming eyes in a mangled face, and the spark of hatred kindled again. She wrenched the blade free of his body, sending a sharp spasm of pain through her shoulder, and struck again, and again, and again. Blood sprayed across her face and body. Chunks of flesh were torn loose and fell unheeded to the tangled debris below.

She stopped hacking at him only when Edgar and Shadow grabbed her arms and physically pulled her back, leaving her blade embedded in what had once been a collarbone. The ruined mockery of a body tumbled toward the ground. She fell to her knees, too exhausted now to stand.

He had paid.

Not enough, but he had paid a few of the debts that were owed.

Dizzy nausea swept through her at the thought of what she had just done. The world seemed to gray out before her eyes, except the too-clear image of what her sword had done. She was barely aware of the tower shaking beneath her feet.

Her comrades' frightened voices finally pierced the sickness that gripped her. Desperately she called on the wild, feral part of herself, the one that she kept so carefully locked inside. The transformation took hold, and she moved forward to lead her friends out of this hellhole.

She wasn't quite sure how she got to the airship. All she knew was that her body kept moving. She was flying, flying above the ruins of Kefka's tower, and she was free.

But she was not free, would never be free. She had slain monsters before, yes. But this was different. She had never directed so much rage and hate into her sword before, and what she had wrought sickened her. But Kefka was dead, and Leo, at least, had been avenged.

Why didn't that thought make her happy? Or at least relieved?

She had sworn that she would avenge him. Had promised it, staring at that cold grey headstone as she placed a bouquet of blue flowers on the freshly dug grave. She had promised, and she had fulfilled her promise.

Shouldn't it feel good?

Her strength was failing her. She fought to keep that last spark of magic alive, fought to hold on to her purpose, but she tumbled toward the deck of the airship.

He was still gone. All her magic couldn't change that.

* * *

Setzer had questioned her desire to stay in Thamasa for a week or two with Relm and Strago. She thought Celes had understood; there was a certain sympathy in the younger woman's gaze when the former general had told Setzer to stop arguing and get back to the serious business of piloting the airship.

She watched the Falcon fly away, shielding her eyes as it vanished into the setting sun. She could sense Strago behind her, a silent presence, though Relm had gone off already to find her friends.

The Falcon was no longer visible, so she turned toward the inn. "You can stay with us," Strago offered quietly.

"I appreciate it, but I think I need some time to myself," Terra said, offering a smile.

Strago nodded and shuffled off toward his house. Terra obtained her room at the inn and slowly, reluctantly made her way toward the grave behind the largest house in town.

The flowers she'd planted were flourishing. The marker was plain grey stone, bearing only his name and the dates of birth and death. She knelt slowly on the thick grass, studying the simple carved letters. She had only the blurriest memories of her time with the Empire, fuzzy around the edges. Most of the time, she was grateful; the things she recalled of fighting for the Empire, and what she recalled of time in General Kefka's company, turned her stomach. But there were some good memories, too, and those were sometimes the clearest. She vaguely recalled being made to spar with Celes when they were younger, and the fierce concentration on the other girl's face.

She did remember General Leo. He had always been kind to her, not vicious as Kefka had been or dismissive like Celes when she assumed the title of General. From time to time he had brought her little treats. If she closed her eyes and let her mind drift, she could call up a dim memory of the expression on his face when he looked at her, a tightening of his mouth and a faint, involuntary gesture of his hands. When those memories had first surfaced, she had thought he hated her, but when he spoke to her on the ship from Albrook to Thamasa, she had finally understood that he had wanted to free her.

The marker in front of her became as blurry her memories as tears filled her eyes and slid down over her cheeks. She bowed her head and wept quietly, for him and for the parents of Mobliz who had perished ensuring their children's safety, for all the people Celes had slain in Maranda, for the people of Doma who died in racking agony from Kefka's poison. So much pain, all made possible by her power, and her father's, and the other Espers.

When at last she wiped away the tears, the sun had long since set and she was shivering with the chill. Stiffly she climbed to her feet and limped toward the inn. She would rest tonight, and tomorrow she would tend to the flowers and clean the moss starting to cling to the base of Leo's gravestone.

* * *

Once a year, she made her private pilgrimage, planting new flowers and making sure the area around his grave stayed well-tended. It was easy enough to book passage on one of the airships in Setzer's fleet. It got harder and harder to do as she got older, but every year, she came. She poured out her secrets to the silent stone, feeling better for unburdening herself although of course he never answered.

Her children had all grown up and had children (sometimes grandchildren) of their own. Kneeling in front of his grave, she rested a hand on the stone, now slightly blurred by time, just like her memories. She had come here every year for fifty years, and she knew that this would be the last time.

"I love you," she whispered to the stone. She had honoured her debts to him these fifty years, but had never been able to speak those words aloud.

Relm found her the next morning, bent forward with her forehead resting against Leo's marker, a peaceful smile on her face.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [What Goes Around (A Debt Remix)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/171716) by [JackOfNone](https://archiveofourown.org/users/JackOfNone/pseuds/JackOfNone)




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